


Burned by Ice

by 800wordsofheaven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Community: HPFT, Creepy, Dark, Fire and Ice, Gen, Hogwarts Founders Era, Inspired by Poetry, Minor Character Death, POV Minor Character, Robert Frost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6549883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/800wordsofheaven/pseuds/800wordsofheaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <img/>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>She knew the price of hate; and if she could perish twice, she knew that death by ice would certainly suffice.

</i>
  </p>
  <p>Either way, she burned.

</p>
  <p>For Lululuna

</p>
  <p>Written for Reebee and randomhpffwriter's <i>Gift-It</i> Challenge @HPFF, and the <i>Every Word Counts</i> Challenge @HPFF | Banner by .brookeabee @tda</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Burned by Ice

**Author's Note:**

> This story is also heavily inspired by and an open love letter to Robert Frost’s poem _Fire and Ice_.

In her last conscious moments, Helena Ravenclaw thought of her greatest failure.

Here she was, lying on the forest floor of some forgotten corner of a thriving empire, breathing her last breaths, and all she could think of was the bronze doorknocker that graced the entrance to the Ravenclaw Common Room.

Or, more correctly, one of the riddles posed by the doorknocker that graced the entrance to the Ravenclaw Common Room.

Oh, how she hated that particular riddle. It was the last one she’d ever heard from the metal beak of that blasted chicken with illusions of grandeur. And she’d answered wrong.

She hadn’t realised how much that bothered her until this very moment. She was sure her body was in utter agony; the knife had been sharp, but not _that_ sharp. The Baron was known for his reserve, but apparently, the throes of passion made him a rather zealous knife-wielder.

And yet, all that was on her mind was the one stupid riddle given by one stupid doorknocker.

It had been a simple question in form: eleven words, twelve syllables, two clauses. It had _not_ , however, been a question that was simple in content: _if your world was ending, would you choose ice or fire?_

All Helena had needed from the Common Room was her cloak. In her rush to leave the place which was a constant reminder of all that her mother was, and all that she was not, she’d forgotten her bloody cloak.

In her impatience, she’d said the first thing that appeared in her mind: _“Fire_. _”_

The doorknocker was silent for a long time. Usually, it was rather quick to tell someone if they were wrong, the pretentious turkey, but it had picked today, the day Helena Ravenclaw graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to deliberate and dither. Pretentious _and_ terrible timing; there were very few qualities worse in doorknockers than those two together.

And then the door swung open. _Finally._

Whilst Helena did not have the energy to _actually_ sigh, her sense of self had not _quite_ wandered away into the gathering mists that she could not do it in her head. She had a feeling that the doorknocker had been mocking her that day.

She knew why she’d picked fire: it was all she’d ever known.

She knew the heat of anger; the burn of jealousy; the scorching caress of rage. Oh, she _knew_ fire. How could she feel anything else, when all her life she’d competed against the one person she should not have had to: her mother.

But now she felt that she had picked wrong. Her world was ending, and Helena Ravenclaw had chosen fire, and she was burning.

Everything was colder now. Her heat seeped into the decay on which she lay. Her mind frosted; her thoughts crystallised; her heart pattered its last.

She knew the price of hate; and if she could perish twice, she knew that death by ice would certainly suffice.

Either way, she burned.


End file.
